


Another Day Without Him

by Funkspiel



Series: Kinktober 2017 [10]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Character Death, Gen, Jaeger Pilot Newt, Jaeger Pilot Theseus, Self-Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-17 11:45:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12365064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Funkspiel/pseuds/Funkspiel
Summary: The Scamanders were considered to be one of the best Jaeger Pilot teams out there - until the fateful night a Kaiju plucked Newt from their cockpit.Day 11: Self-Sacrifice





	Another Day Without Him

**Author's Note:**

  * For [QED_Scribblings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QED_Scribblings/gifts).



It had been Newt, before. It had been Newt beside him. His other half, the thing that made him whole inside this bloody suit turned graveyard. He can remember the bright bubble of his mind when they merged. The optimism, the determination. Scrawny and kind and underestimated - no one knew Newt like Theseus did. People mistook his kindness for weakness, his soft spoken nature for meakness, and his clumsiness for ineptitude. 

They didn’t see that his kindness was what made him stronger than them all. That kindness in the face of pride or cruelty or bad days was not a weakness but a strength. That it took courage to be kind. That his soft spokeness was not from fear of speaking his mind rather that it was out of interest of listening first. Listening not to respond, but to understand. That his clumsiness only hid his elegance in the suit. Like a reed moving with the water of a river bank, seemingly at random, but rooted strong and more steadfast than the rock that withered with time against the tide.

His brother had been a gift they didn’t deserve. Media outlets bayed for the blood of the pilots that “did more damage than good”, never once pausing to lay rest the soul that had died at sea. They didn’t care. They didn’t know.

They didn’t know that when the Kaiju came, it had been Newt that had not simply saved them all - but had saved Theseus. They assumed he was just stronger, that his survival was directly equivalent to his skills. That Newt was lesser, somehow, for dying where none other could rise. As though piloting were easy. As though facing monsters was something people were standing in line for.

No one knew, because no one asked. Only paper told the story now, written in fine print on Newt’s file.

Perished protecting the wall and his co-pilot.

But the words did not give him justice. The words did not convey the howling of the winds or the raging of the storm. How hard it had been to walk in the suit, surrounded by thousands of tons of pressure and water. How it had been like trying to fight in molasses. The words did not convey the horror of that glowing mouth or the sick fury of its teeth. The way its tentacles wrecked metal or how its claws cut through the suit like butter, stronger than any other Kaiju they had faced. 

The words did not convey the terribleness of that moment when claws and teeth and bone came down upon them, Theseus’ external sensors shot where Newt’s visual optics still functioned. The way Theseus felt the thought a second too slow, the moment his brother had made his decision.

The feel of his lithe body pressing against him, hot and slick and suddenly bleeding. Teeth red slicked and smiling past split lips as Newt hugged him one last time. Rain entered through the gashes of the suit, soaking them, hiding the red that wept from his brother’s back and side. Hiding the tears of disbelief that ran from Theseus’ eyes.

“It’s okay,” Newt whispered in the silence of Theseus’ horror. “I’ve got you covered.”

And then he was ripped from the hull, wires snapping in his passing like thin strings. Ripped from his place beside Theseus just as he was ripped from his mind, from his heart, from his life. The Jaeger groaned a death rattle that shuddered through his very bones as the sea clawed him down into its depths. Lights and sirens blared, but he had no ears for them, no eyes for them, no heart for them. Lost to the severed connection, disassociated from his limbs. Screaming himself hoarse to a man that no longer breathed, disappeared into the night just as Theseus sank into the sea.

Beyond them, the Kaiju roared. Beyond them, terrified people hunkered underground and prayed. Beyond them, military personnel watched with grim faces. Beyond them, someone began to draft the press release of their death. Beyond them, life ebbed and flowed and passed without them.

Beyond them, no one knew the truth.

No one, but Percival Graves.

This man who sat beside him at a bar after a long day of wall repairs. Dirty fingered and cheeks smudged. This man he trusted with his life as they hovered hundreds of feet above raging seas, swaying at the tender mercies of howling winds. This man who waited for him when his eyes went far and blank at the sound, at the rain, at the sea. 

Smiling sadly now, knowingly, but respecting his silence for what it was all the same as he set a glass of amber atop the paper in front of Theseus that read the date. Another anniversary.

“Another day another dollar,” Graves said before clinking their rims and knocking back his shot. Theseus grunted and followed suit only after finally dragging his gaze away from the familiar man standing in the doorway, watching him.

“You can say that again,” he growled softly past the burn, and ‘another day without him’ went unsaid.


End file.
